


Let's Try Again Tonight

by raven_aorla



Series: Time Out of Mind [14]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, BDSM, Canon Queer Character, Canon Trans Character, Deaf Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good BDSM Etiquette, Healthy Relationships, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Polyamory, Queerplatonic relationship, Vanilla, cissexism mention, ensemble fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mental health issues, negotiating queerness, and needing physical accommodations can all mess with your sex life:</p><p>10 non-explicit vignettes of times characters from this AU had difficulties, and what they did about it. </p><p>(If you've read Sharps Hour, you should be good to go for essential context.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Try Again Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> "Chev" experiences something in this fic that doesn't match my understanding of gender dysphoria, but I am not an expert on gender dysphoria, and it might give people gender dysphoria related feels/triggers, so heads-up on that. I didn't tag externally bc it's hard to make tags nuanced. More on Chev's historical counterpart in end notes, if you haven't read the fics with them (which is fine) and are curious.

_1\. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder_

Dolley loves her inner circle of friends, and heaven knows she hasn’t had a girls’ night in far too long, but every once in awhile they get too nosy. Especially after round two of the massive jug of sangria their hostess has provided. The questions start.

So how was the honeymoon? “Lovely.”

Is Payne adjusting fine to his stepdad? “He doesn’t need to adjust, other than getting used to the shared house. Jemmy made sure to make himself a fixture in Payne’s life long before proposing.”

How do you manage the OCD thing? “Carefully.”

It’s not like they haven’t all gossiped about their boyfriends, then later their husbands, over the years. If it were just a matter of giggly dishing on juicy details, that’d be one thing. It’s that the questions are increasingly disrespectful.

 _Do you both have to shower beforehand? What can he even touch? Does he have elaborate rituals? Does he demand waxing? What about douching?_

That’s when she snaps. “He would never make me risk infection or put myself through pain. My hair isn’t dirty to him, no matter where it is, but even if it was, he wouldn’t demand I remove it. The measures we mutually agree on to ease his anxieties are ones I’m glad to take.”

They haven’t seen her snap in years, and she wishes it were appropriate to take a photo to commemorate their expressions.

She continues, “Meanwhile...how many of you have husbands who have spent hours finding out exactly what will give you the most pleasure? How many of you have husbands who will arm himself with gloves and an inquiring, patient, meticulous mind, and ask how many times you’d like to come today? Who here, minutes ago, was complaining that you were with someone who considered five minutes of fumbling sufficient foreplay, and that he got in a snit when you tried suggesting more? I thought so. I’m going to the kitchen for a pitcher of water and enough glasses so we’ll all pace ourselves. When I come back, no more of this talk.”

 

****

_2\. Tics_

Friedrich doesn’t like gagging Pierre before he’s done tying him up. This way it’s easy for Pierre to tell him if something pinches. Pierre’s gotten more flexible during their year of fun, gradual training, so they’re being more ambitious in configuration for this scene. The boy’s enthusiastic but a tad nervous. Friedrich’s keeping up the praise and soothing touches as he makes him bend in new ways and forces the limbs to stay put. 

He’s working on a leg right now, and Pierre’s making small sounds that are a bit too ambiguous for his taste. “You okay?”

"Fine. Adjusting. Be gentle this round." In general, the scene doesn't start until the initial bondage is finished. Pierre's in his normal persona. His smile is impish and sparkling rather than dreamy. 

Friedrich often feels his tics unfolding inside him, scurrying their way up to the surface, with that sense of mild doom he also gets when he knows he's about to sneeze or hiccup. This one will be verbal. Pierre understands, will understand, but it's tiresome, and some sounds and words risk killing the mood. 

This time, it's one of the worst mood killers possible. "Angelface."

"Whoa, hang on," Pierre says, understandably, because that's Friedrich's main pet name for _Benjamin Walker_. Pierre's been less on edge about Benjy being upgraded from Freidrich's FWB to new boyfriend, lately, ever since he got a new datefriend of his own. Still, it's a sensitive subject. Shit. 

Efforts to explain himself just turn into him saying it over and over. The embarrassment mounts, but on the plus side, it makes it clear that it's involuntary and not favoritism. 

Then Pierre smirks and says, “I think we’re even for the time I called you ‘Marquis’ by accident.”

Friedrich relaxes and says, “Sounds fair, little gecko.” He leans down, and Pierre has juuuuuust enough freedom of movement to lean up a few degrees to kiss him. Hm, he needs to fix that.

****

_3\. Internalized Homophobia_

Martha Manning is bold. Martha Manning knows what she wants. Martha Manning rejects your notions of who she should be and follows her own.

Martha Manning has suddenly frozen up. 

Jane scoots back and gently lifts Martha’s chin. “What’s wrong, love? Do you need a break? We can switch places, or do something else, or…”

She shakes her head, crawls up, curls around Jane like she’s seeking literal as well as figurative warmth. “I suddenly feel dirty. Not like you’re dirty. Unless, like, in a fun way. I feel like I’m dirty. This is dirty. I feel outside myself, watching myself, and I’m cringing at the fact that I’m enjoying myself, I guess? I’m not making sense.”

“I rather think you are.” Jane turns and tucks a sweaty lock of hair behind her girlfriend’s ear (they’ve discussed rings like they’ve discussed moving house, something they imagine but haven’t figured out the mechanics of yet). 

“You’re the first woman I’ve been allowed to love,” Martha says, eyes averted but fingers seeking Jane’s. 

Jane interlaces each hand with Martha’s corresponding one. “It’s my honor.”

“Sorry I’m so nervous.”

“I’m hoping for your nerves to be my dear companions for many years. What would you like to do now?”

Martha considers. “Can I use my fingers while watching your face? That way I’ll remember that it’s you. I’ll think only of you. Keep everything else out of my head.”

“Good. This picture will only be improved by a pair of fine eyes to admire.” 

****

_4\. Side Effects_

Hercules lets loose a string of quiet curses.

“What is it, Hercutie?” Elsie asks, slinking into view in a mouth-watering lingerie ensemble, of goddamn course.

“Remember how I told you my antidepressant dose went up? At least for now, it’s the only thing that did. I already tried.” At least this is happening after they’ve been together long enough that Elsie has experienced ample proof that Hercules is smitten with her on every level.

“May I?” At his nod, she tugs gently at the waistband of his briefs and takes a peek. “That must be frustrating as hell. How long-term?”

“Most of the time it’s only when you’re getting used to it, but it’s possible for it to become a common thing, which would make me switch pronto, I promise.” Hercules melts a little when Elsie puts her arms around him and does a little melting of her own.

"I dig all of you, not just the bit of you that isn’t cooperating at the moment. How about you pay me some nice attention while I take advantage of the lovely vibrator you got me for my birthday? If anything sparks, sweet. If not, it’s chill by me, even if, again, it’s gotta be frustrating.”

“Up in it, lovin’ it,” Hercules replies, and decides not to give up on the night.

****

_5\. Depression and Anxiety_

It's good, it's so good, it's amazing, but - 

"You're not doing this just for me, right?"

Alexander pauses. "Sorry, I'll do better."

"Alexander..."

"Should I speed up?"

"Alexander." Eliza cradles his face in her hands. _Oh, look at those eyes._ "I'm not commenting on or criticizing your technique. I'm worried about how uncertain you look. I know you're depressed right now. If you don't want sex, you don't have to have it."

"Isn't it obvious I want it?"

"The body and the brain don't always want the same thing. As you know." She moves her hands to his shoulders, like she's propping him up. "I want it if and only if you want it."

He kisses the place where her jaw meets her right ear. "I do. It's...in my head, I'm doing everything wrong. Down to my head telling me that was a stupid place to kiss you a second ago. Even when you moan and so on, there are all these different interpretations in my head."

"It was a very sweet kiss. Would you feel better if I gave a running commentary, and made suggestions?"

"Maybe. I trust you."

Eliza feels warmth at the admission, because she knows how much it takes to overcome the noise in Alexander's mind, noise which changes in nature but almost never in volume. "Then what you were doing, but slower...mmm...yeah, like that...." 

****

_6\. Intersex Anatomy (And Associated Baggage)_

What both of them thought would be the trickiest hurdle hasn't really been a problem. Pierre is thrilled to finally have a partner he is physically capable of taking into his mouth without setting off his oversensitive throat. He likes being pinned by a lover, and 'taken advantage of', but it turns out it doesn't matter to him whose parts are in what places. Some shopping took care of the rest.

He has seen Chev respond to intrusive questions by asking about dimensions or coloring of the questioner's labia/perenium/clitoris/glans/testicles, etc, then saying, "Oh, sorry, I thought you wanted to have a chat about each other's genitals, in which we were equally nosy?" 

Perhaps Pierre should not be so surprised when Chev abruptly curses through their teeth and pushes him away. He squeaks, though, and makes the mistake of sitting down while the wonderful marks from the wonderful caning are still tender. He thankfully doesn’t overbalance and tumble off the bed.

Chev blinks and breathes for a moment, then gently tugs him back. Neither of them are into petplay, but Pierre is super into bondage, and Chev often wants him to use his hands, so their compromise for such times is the collar and leash. “Hey, minibon, I’m sorry. Put your head on my thigh. Color?”

“Green.” Chev isn’t into honorifics in bed, especially not the theme Pierre has/had with his others: Madame, Marquis, Marquise, Baron. For the sake of the headspace he values so highly, Pierre keeps his utterances short and meek, as a substitute. 

Chev scratches lightly at his scalp. It feels nice. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Every other time you’ve touched my breasts, it’s been delightful, and you didn’t do anything different. I guess I still have my days where I don’t want to be touched there.”

“Thank you for the reassurance. If you want to safeword, Doms can safeword too, you know.”

“I know. Thank you. You see...at first I hated them - well, not them, but how they made people treat me, how I didn’t match - and then I started to see them as part of me. I ran into a handful of people who loved them, but for their own sake, because of a kink or a fetish or whatever...You’re the first person, other than me, who loved them because they were part of me.”  
“You know how I feel about all those people,” Pierre says softly. His hands are clasped together against his chest, since he hasn’t been instructed to do anything with them. 

“Indeed.” Chev runs their nails, feather-light, up Pierre’s back, then loops their end of the leash around the bedpost. “Get the blue box from under the bed and pick out whichever toy you want, as well as the lube. I’m going to dig for a bra that makes me feel sexy. And safe.”

\----

7\. Unresolved Grief

Everyone expected James to be the one to panic, if anyone was going to. In fact, it's Thomas, who - without a word of warning - actually separates and hides himself under a blanket.

Dolley stops her attentions on her husband. They sit up, as one, and approach the lump that is Thomas Jefferson, naked and ashamed. 

“Thomas?” James (not Jemmy during sex, ever, that would be weird) gives the lump an experimental pat.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry,” Thomas mumbles, breaths uneven.

“You haven’t done anything wrong...”

Dolley touches James’ arm and mouths, “Not talking to us.”

“God, you two must think I’m such a basket case.”

“No more so than I am,” James says. He peels the blanket back a fraction, exposing a cloud of hair but not much else. “If you want to stop, any reason, that’s completely fine.”

“I told her I’d never love anyone else. Y’know, romantically, that part was implied. I don’t think - I don’t think she would have wanted me to stop loving relatives and so on. It’s not that I’m in love with either of you, but since she d-d-died I’ve never...it’s not safe to care. So I didn’t care. Women don’t count if I don’t care about them. But Madses.” Thomas chuckles, hollow. “I care about you two an awful damn lot, and turns out it scares me.”

Silence. James pats the lump in a slow 3/4 time, a comforting waltz. Thomas once got drunk and ranted about the emotional ramifications of rhythm in music, and James has never forgotten it. 

Thomas eventually says, “Don’t wanna be rude, but equally don’t wanna come out.”

“How about we join you?” James asks.

“The sexualness can be adjusted,” Dolley adds. “We can also increase the bedding involved.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe, but if I start sniffling, and you judge me for it, I will bury you.”

James gives the lump a vague approximation of a hug, before figuring out how to make the new plan not mess with his hygiene standards. 

****

8\. Asexuality (and Paranoia)

Samuel Seabury has had a long day, and he can’t shake the feeling that there is something evil inside his bathroom sink. He’s put a sheet over it and is using the kitchen sink for all his needs. Just until he feels better. He knows there is probably not anything evil in his bathroom sink. He doesn’t feel like fighting the feeling right now. 

However, he has hot cocoa, and he’s in an easy chair with a cat to purr at him and Sudoku to fill in. He has a friend’s smile to think about. He has his thoughts about his friend’s smile to think about. 

Whenever people ask his opinion on same-sex marriage and so on, he says he believes there were a lot of ways to love, and a lot of ways of expressing it. It has taken longer for him to conclude that it’s fine to not love in all the ways considered “normal”. As long as you did in some way. A way. Sincerely. Sam has not yet experienced romantic love, though he thoinks he might be able to. He’s never experienced sexual desire, and he doubts he will, and his life is plenty rich and varied enough as it is. 

He falls asleep in the chair. He wakes with both his cats piled on him, and a notice that a recommendation he made just resulted in one of his “flock” being granted parole. 

(Later, the more rambunctious cat, Thayne, falls into the bathroom sink. No harm results. Sam starts using it again.)

****

9\. & 10\. Communication Issues & Flashbacks

“I’m glad you agreed to this being audio-only, John, because I couldn’t possibly look at you while telling you this.”

“Do you have Thom’s blessing to tell me this?”

“Non-graphically, yes. So we were trying something new, and all of a sudden Thom shoved me off. Like seriously shoved. I was super confused and upset for a few seconds, and my ASL comprehension went out the window, so he had to hug me for a moment before I was calm enough to actually understand him. I hate it when I freak out so much that the person who had the original problem starts comforting me.”

“I know that feel, qp.”

“Eliza’s promised to let me finish comforting her first, or to tell me politely to back off until I get better at comforting again. Anyway, the thing we were trying had us not be face-to-face. It turned out he got a cramp and I didn’t realize. I feel like I should know the difference. Also, he is capable of saying a few words aloud, including ‘help’ and ‘no’, but he suspects his pronunciation wasn’t good.”

“What’d you do?”

“After I was done dying of self-recriminations and we got everything going again, we changed to something face-to-face, and also we swapped roles so I could stop worrying as much about hurting him by accident.”

“Good call. Mine’s worse than yours.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. Has Ned mentioned it to you? I mean, you’ve known him longer…”

“Yes, but he and I are platonic. We’re queerplatonic. Different vibe.”

“Hm. So there was a moment where I found myself hiding underneath the bed, and Ned telling me that it’s 2016, and I’m in his apartment in Virginia, and he’s my boyfriend, and that his upstairs neighbors are moving heavy furniture around. Apparently I heard the sounds, shouted ‘Duck and cover!’ and followed my own instructions. Mid, y’know, mid-coitus. He says I tried to bring him along.”

“How gallant of you.”

“Oh hush. We didn’t manage to restart. He showed me a few dresses he bought recently, and he showed me what it actually means to julienne a vegetable, and then we julienned some vegetables as part of dinner prep, and then I felt better enough to fool around on the couch.”

“You’re gonna talk to your therapist about that, right? Not the vegetable julienning, though I guess you could, if you wanted.”

“Yeah. I think talking to you is pretty great, though.”

“Look at where you are and look at where you started, man.”

“I know. I spent a long time thinking I’d never have a sex life at all.”

“I spent a long time thinking I’d never have a sex life that didn’t break people’s hearts in very dramatic and public ways.”

“There’s hope for our ass after all, as it were.”

“Go away, John, you’re badly punning.”

“Full disclosure, Ned has broken into my apartment and is stealing my socks off my feet in slow-motion.”

“Omg, instagram that shit. Not, like, what I predict is the upcoming shit, which I hope is the shit (as in fab), but the slow-motion socks thing. Have you ever thought about how ‘shit’ is the tofu of swearing? Picks up the flavor of whatever you put it in...right. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Alexander. Love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- For anyone who hasn't read far enough into Tomorrow and Tomorrow or hasn't read Three Days Already, Chev is based on Le Chevalier d'Eon/La Chevaliere d'Eon, a French spy, soldier, and diplomat whose pronoun situation is so complicated that Wikipedia just uses d'Eon's name over and over instead. My version is they/them, NB, and intersex, which I think is plausible, but is by no means the only interpretation of d'Eon and what d'Eon would want to be called if given the choice of modern English terms.
> 
> \- Chev's rare genetic condition in this AU is AES, Aromatase Excess Syndrome, which, because they have XY chromosomes, has boiled down to being DMAB (with a very small penis) and getting massive amounts of naturally produced estrogen at puberty and onward. Imagine the hormone treatments that are part of physical MtF transition, but with no choice in the matter, starting when you're, like, 12. 
> 
> \- A minibon is a type of miniature cinammon roll, as sold by the Cinnabon franchise. ETA: A reader has pointed out that Pierre (in T&T ) said he doesn't like cinnamon. He doesn't like eating it, but he likes *being* it to someone who *does* like eating it, to get figurative on nicknames for a sec.
> 
> \- The tofu comparison is taken from David Sedaris. 
> 
> \- Comments are dearly appreciated, if you have the time and spoons. <3


End file.
